


Broken Mirrors

by laireshi



Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marvel 616/MCU Crossover, Multiverse, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), marvel crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-13 11:03:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9120835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi
Summary: “He hid some things from me,” Tony says, then shrugs. “It’s fine. I hid some things from him, too. Don’t you know this story?”616 Steve meets MCU Tony.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cap Iron Man Community](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Cap+Iron+Man+Community).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [Broken Mirrors](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10261190) by [Celeste_030](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celeste_030/pseuds/Celeste_030)
  * Translation into Español available: [Broken Mirrors](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10851846) by [Nahira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nahira/pseuds/Nahira)



> Loosely based on the following prompt:  
>  _Post-CW II (ignoring Hydra!Cap debacle) in which Steve witnesses Tony's death and it wrecks him so bad to the point that he goes to another universe to see another Tony alive & happy but instead he stumbles into MCU post-CACW and finds MCU!Tony in his miserable state, which gets 616!Steve being determined to make him happy. [*Bonus: 616!Steve develops a crush at MCU!Tony, which is not surprising.] ~~[**Bonus: MCU!Steve being conflicted upon seeing this (half-jealous and half-mad at himself).]~~_
> 
> Thanks for beta to [navaan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan).
> 
> There's a Chinese translation available [here](http://www.mtslash.org/thread-220777-1-1.html) or [here](http://weibo.com/ttarticle/p/show?id=2309404063460487999579). Thanks to [celestewuu](http://celestewuu.tumblr.com/)!  
> There's a Russian translation available [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5113108). Thanks to [Darkness_and_Madness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkness_and_Madness/pseuds/Darkness_and_Madness)!

Tony Stark is standing in front of Steve, alive and well, which is impossible, because Tony Stark is dead. 

Steve’s ears are ringing, dark spots dance in front of his eyes still. He thinks he must be concussed from the explosion, or maybe he’s just unconscious and hallucinating. Probably the latter, as he can’t smell any smoke, and . . . He looks around quickly. He seems to be standing in the Tower, which is also impossible, because the Tower is in ruins.

He looks back at Tony—he can’t keep his eyes away for long, because _Tony is dead_ , but Steve _wants_ to believe the illusion. 

It’s not quite right. Tony is older, more lines marking his face. He’s a bit shorter than Steve remembers. He doesn’t look good; bruised everywhere Steve can see, but then, his Tony didn’t look good either, the last time Steve has ever seen him, a cold body in the morgue. The most striking difference is his eyes: warm brown, not the bright blue Steve remembers (like the sky on a sunny day when Tony would take him flying).

Maybe even hallucinating he knows he couldn’t stand the vision of his Tony, alive. 

But then Tony moves, quickly, extending his arm forward in a familiar gesture. By the time his arm is fully extended, his open palm aimed at Steve, a repulsor gauntlet is covering his hand and wrist. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks.

There’s another explanation, of course, but Steve’s not sure he can handle that one any better. 

“I’m Steve Rogers,” he says, because what can it hurt?

Tony snorts. “Yeah. Sure. But we can play that game, I’m all in, I’ll just call the authorities first.”

Steve frowns briefly. The words, when he forces himself to say them, are heavy on his tongue. “I’m from another universe.”

And this isn’t his Tony. Not even close. But the physical differences aside, he seems similar enough: tired, as if the weight of the whole world was on his shoulders to bear, pale as if he wasn’t sleeping, even now he’s obviously calculating something, his eyes set intently on Steve.

“Let’s say I believe that,” Tony says, drawing the words out, not lowering his repulsor. “How did you get here?”

Even his voice is different, sharper somehow, like he’s fighting verbally all the time, but there is something inexplicably _Tony_ about him all the same. “I have no idea,” Steve admits. “There was an explosion. I guess whoever started it was experimenting with portals.”

And it’s not as if Steve could explain more, even if he knew he’d come right through Reed’s portal; the physics of it is beyond him. His Tony would probably laugh—but God, Steve would take the mocking now if it meant _Tony was alive_.

Tony blinks. “This is not a new situation to you,” he says, which is interesting, because it means _it is to him_. 

And . . . Steve isn’t especially worried about getting back home, anyway.

Home is with Tony—so it’s gone, now.

Tony nods, as if Steve actually said anything. Then the gauntlet on his hand retracts and Tony turns away. Steve tries not to read too much into it: he clearly can summon the armour at will, it’s not that he trusts Steve behind his back. “Come on,” Tony says. “I need a drink to deal with this. Steve Rogers. That’s just—” he doesn’t finish the sentence, and the line of his shoulders gets more tense, but that’s not what Steve focuses on.

“You’re drinking?” he blurts out.

Tony doesn’t stop walking away. “And it’s none of your fucking business, Cap,” he snaps, and Steve has a feeling that’s meant for his counterpart here.

The one Tony wanted to call authorities on . . . ? Did Steve stumble into a world where he was evil? They had met that evil Tony once; Steve knows it’s possible, it’s just . . . 

He doesn’t like the idea of him, any him, being at odds with Tony.

He jogs a bit to catch up, and then he watches Tony pouring himself whiskey. He wants to throw the bottle at the wall, he wants to scream—but that’s not _his_ Tony, and Steve had never managed to help him when it came to alcohol, anyway. 

Something uneasy settles over him anyway at the way Tony downs the glass and pours himself another. He doesn’t drink this one immediately, at least; instead he turns to Steve and raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to judge me some more, Cap?” he asks.

Right, no. “I’m pretty sure you’re not actually talking to me, Tony,” he says. “And believe me; I get it; my Tony is dead and I won’t ever talk to him again. But you’re not him. And I am not your Steve Rogers, either. I haven’t done anything to you.”

 _Yet_. He always ends up hurting Tony, somehow.

Tony’s tilting his head, almost fascinated. “Dead. And you actually miss him.”

“Of course I miss him, he’s—” Steve stops himself. He doesn’t have an inkling of an idea of how to describe what Tony means— _meant—_ to him. Home and heart and everything in between.

Tony presses his fingers against the bruise over his eye briefly. “I used to think Rogers was a friend,” he lets out. “Your Tony. Wow. I—I’d willingly trade places with him, really.”

“No!” Steve snaps. “Don’t you dare say that.”

“Why?” Tony asks, curious. “I’m not him; why do you care? If there was a magic spell to bring him to life, wouldn’t you kill me yourself?”

Steve feels sick at the mere thought. “No,” he grits out.

Really, the question is very similar to, _if you had to destroy another planet for your own to live, wouldn’t you do it?_

That is never an option . . . and yet clearly all the Tonys across the multiverse believe it is.

“ _No_ ,” he says again, willing Tony to understand.

“Then you’re an idiot,” Tony says, something grim in his voice. 

Steve knows it for what it is, though, his own Tony employed it often enough—try and hurt Steve, make him leave.

Steve’s done playing that game.

“You’re not expendable, Tony,” Steve says. “Certainly not to fulfil what you think is my wish.”

Tony’s expression is still sharp. “You barely know me.”

“And I know that much.”

“It’s not about you,” Tony says. “Maybe it’s what I would want, if I had the choice.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I’m sure. That’s why you’re so hurt by the mere possibility.”

Tony turns on him, defensive. “Who says I’m hurt?” he asks. “I’m—”

“ _Stark men are made of iron_ ,” Steve quotes. “This is not true, Tony.”

Tony freezes before looking down, all fight escaping him.

Steve is overcome by a sudden urge to hug him. And really, he’s too much like Steve’s Tony, because the next moment, Steve’s wrapping his arms around Tony. 

He’s in a different universe, with little hope of going back. But there’s a Tony here, a Tony who clearly needs his help. Steve—Steve can’t watch him shatter.

(He had done that, to his own Tony, and he hadn’t even noticed at the time; he’s learning from his mistakes.)

Tony’s very tense at first; he only lets himself relax when Steve keeps holding him close without any suggestion of pushing him away. Then he melts against Steve, as if it’s been ages since anyone hugged him. Steve wonders what happened to this Tony, but he knows this is not the time to ask. And touching him is so very different, but not unlike touching his Tony—they both smell like metal and power and coffee, and something else, like petrol but not quite, that he’s learnt to associate with _Iron Man_. It’s a heady combination. He wants to lick the smell from Tony’s skin.

He chastises himself for thinking that. This Tony doesn’t deserve to deal with Steve’s ghosts and demons. No one but Steve does. 

Steve fully expected him to, but Tony doesn’t cry. He just stands very close, almost clinging to Steve, everything about him begging, _Don’t leave me_.

At least today, Steve won’t.

***

“You knew him very well,” Tony says. 

Steve doesn’t pretend he doesn’t understand who they’re talking about. “I did,” he says, even as he wonders if that’s really the truth. His Tony had many secrets, in the end. But Steve _knew_ him, the parts that mattered. He thinks of the incursions and shakes his head. Tony’s dead. Steve would take a thousand more betrayals if it meant Tony was alive. “He was my best friend,” Steve adds after a while.

Tony nods, doesn’t push further. He drinks his glass—whiskey again—and looks at Steve. “So there was a world where Tony Stark was happy.” He looks so hopeful, his brown eyes open wide and pleading, _say it was so_. 

Steve would love to do that, but he doesn’t want to lie to this Tony. “He wasn’t,” he says, and it hurts him to say it, and from the sharp intake of breath, it hurts the other Tony, too.

“Why?” he asks quietly. “He had you . . .”

Steve closes his eyes. “We fought,” he says. “We fought many times. And we always—we always got back together. But every time, he was just a bit darker. A bit more broken.”

Tony tries to smile, a wobbly thing that only shows that he’s at the verge of tears himself. “Well,” he says finally, his voice surprisingly steady. “That seems to be an universal constant, then.”

“I loved him,” Steve lets out, entirely unplanned.

He’s never let himself _say_ the words before. He’s not surprised, though. He’s thought it enough times over the years.

This Tony, here, just huffs a laugh. “And this certainly isn’t one.”

 _What have I done to you in this world_ , Steve thinks, and is too much of a coward to ask. He can’t imagine a version of himself who doesn’t care for Tony, but . . . He cared for his Tony, he cared _so much_ , and look where it got him—both of them. 

Maybe Tony would be better off if he’d never met Steve Rogers.

Tony’s lips on his are a shock. The kiss is barely there, fleeting, as if Tony’s scared; Steve pulls him back in. He tastes alcohol and is sharply reminded this isn’t _his_ Tony. (As if he could ever forget.)

“You’re drunk,” he whispers in the space between them.

Tony shakes his head, but doesn’t lean in again. “Figures you’d care,” he mutters.

“What happened to you, Tony?” Steve asks, when he can’t bear it anymore.

Tony just looks at him, his eyes very dark. Then, and this is the real punch, he smiles. “Nothing,” he says. “I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are,” Steve snarls. This, this is why he didn’t want to ask, this is why he shouldn’t have, he can’t deal with it again, not with another Tony Stark—he also can’t ignore him.

“He hid some things from me,” Tony says, then shrugs. “It’s fine. I hid some things from him, too. Don’t you know this story?” 

In many different variants, Steve thinks, numb, and he knows, he knows there was something more to it here. 

“I broke his nose,” Tony continues. “He broke my arc reactor.” He taps on his chest. There’s no metallic sound, no light like the RT node Steve’s Tony had. “I guess we’re even.” His voice is terrible, so carefully emotionless; Steve would prefer screaming.

“Arc reactor?” he asks, and something in Tony’s face crumbles, just for a second.

“It’s nothing,” he says. “It only powers the armour now. I don’t need it anymore.”

Steve thinks of his Tony, of all the things that kept his heart going throughout the years. As far as Steve knows, Tony used the RT to power the armour. The mere thought of breaking it is making him sick.

The thing is, he knows the other side of the story: he knows what it’s like to love Tony Stark, and be proven over and over again Tony won’t ever completely trust him, will always hide things. He knows how much it hurts.

But his Tony is dead, and Steve’s forced to face that maybe, maybe, it wasn’t just Tony who didn’t trust Steve completely in their relationship.

Steve would’ve done so many things differently, if only he had a chance to go back and fix them.

He knows what his Tony would say: _I’d do it all again_. He also knows, or hopes he does, that Tony would be lying.

Tony touches his hand to Steve’s cheek. He looks incredibly gentle, like that. “Hey,” he says. “Your Tony. He wouldn’t want you to worry.”

Of course not. His Tony thought he wasn’t worth worrying about.

Steve misses him so much.

***

The first time Steve wakes up, goes to the living room and doesn’t find Tony there, he doesn’t hesitate long. He walks to the kitchen—well stocked, everything ordered with delivery—and prepares some sandwiches. He starts the coffee maker—years of living with Tony prepared Steve to handle just about any kind of it. Then he puts the food and drinks on a tray, and bites on his lip.

Not his world. Not his Tower. _Not his Tony_.

Still a Tony, though.

“Friday,” Steve says, “how can I get to the lab?”

There’s a moment of silence. Friday doesn’t reply, but then the elevator door opens. Steve takes the invitation.

Tony’s indeed working in his lab—something that looks like models for legs prosthetics blown up in 3D over his table. He’s not shaven, and the blue light of the hologram makes him look sickly.

“Morning,” Steve says.

“Not done yet,” Tony says, and yes, Steve knows that look.

“We both know you won’t get further without some food.” Steve considers. “And sleep.”

“Can’t.” Tony shakes his head. “It’s for Rhodey.”

Steve glances at the model again and swallows. He has a feeling it’s _not_ for the War Machine armour.

“It’s my fault,” Tony says, “but everything there was, so. I’m just glad—Peter seems to be doing okay.”

Steve can’t even begin to untangle his sentence—there’s so much wrong with it. And he can guess Tony’s reaction anyway. So Steve doesn’t argue about these things he doesn’t know about, doesn’t try and convince Tony he wasn’t at fault. No Tony Stark ever believes that. They wear guilt like they wear the armour: a part of themselves, a part that keeps getting them hurt, and they can’t quit anyway.

“I made you sandwiches,” Steve says instead.

Tony blinks at that. “ _You_?” he asks.

“Mhm,” Steve confirms. “And coffee. You have a very nice kitchen,” he says. _Unused_ , he doesn’t say; it’s obvious why it seemed so impersonal. 

Tony gives him a long look. Finally, he sets down his tools. “Friday, save the project, power it down.”

“Sure, boss,” Friday says.

Steve pushes the tray into Tony’s direction on a lab bench. 

Tony basically devours the first sandwich. “Wow. That’s good. That’s very good. My favourite blackberry jam,” he says.

Steve just smiles. He pushes the glass of water closer to him, and downs the coffee himself. Tony’s clearly willing to try and sleep, and Steve won’t have coffee destroying that.

“And here I thought you had good intentions,” Tony says, his mouth full as he’s chewing another sandwich.

“I do,” Steve says, smiles. He failed his Tony. But for a short while, he can take care of this one.

Tony stands up after eating, stretches. He hides a yawn behind his hand. “Okay,” he says. “Sleep might be a good idea.” But he looks at his screens all the same.

Steve sighs. “If your Rhodey is anything like the one I know, he’d prefer you to rest.”

“Yes,” Tony agrees, “shame he can’t come down here and tell me himself, isn’t it?”

“Tony . . .” Steve’s not sure what he wanted to say, maybe just his name. To ground himself, more than Tony, to be painfully honest. But it works for Tony too.

He looks up at Steve. “Yes,” he says. “I know. I’m useless this tired. I almost fucked up FFT earlier, and that’s basic level.”

Steve’s no idea what he’s talking about, but he nods all the same. “Bed, Tony.”

Tony looks him up and down, slowly. Steve doesn’t blush. “Yes,” Tony says. “But you’re coming, too.”

“Tony—”

“God, Rogers, who do you take me for? You’re tired. I am tired. And we both have nightmares.” It’s not a question. Tony clearly knows he’s right.

Of course, Steve can’t quite prove him wrong. So he follows Tony upstairs in a lift operated by a silent Friday—“don’t take it personally, _Steve_ , but she doesn’t like Rogers”—and then, the way they planned, but still suddenly, they arrive at Tony’s apartment. 

Tony takes Steve’s hand and leads him to his bed. “I’m going to grab my pyjamas. You—you might find something fitting you in the wardrobe,” he says.

Steve raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t ask. Tony locks himself in the bathroom, and Steve opens the wardrobe.

 _Oh_.

He chooses the first hanger, with a silk pyjama definitely in Steve’s size, a white star embroidered on the shoulders, like a joke his Tony would’ve made. There’s more clothes there that look like they’d fit him. They look unused in ages. And still are right here.

He frowns. Suddenly, he doubts Tony’s slept in his own bed in weeks. 

The sheets look fresh, though, so Steve sighs and sits on the edge of the bed.

Tony emerges from the bathroom in simple black pyjamas, takes one look at Steve and freezes.

Well, that answers one question. He’s more similar to this Steve than this Tony is to his Tony.

He wants to leave, but Tony shakes his head. “Stay. Just one night,” he asks.

Steve nods.

Tony slips under the covers, tense. Steve lies next to him, pulling him just a bit closer.

He puts his hand on Tony’s chest. He wants to feel his heartbeat . . . Tony tenses, and Steve remembers, _he broke my arc reactor_.

He’s an idiot, Steve decides, but Tony catches his wrist before he can move away.

“Stay,” he repeats, nothing else.

Steve nods. He lets himself relax, Tony’s proximity more comfortable than he could’ve ever imagined. 

He can feel Tony’s heartbeat under his fingertips, and he falls asleep before he can say, _Good night_.

***

“So,” Tony says at breakfast. “Your world—the heroes there. How many are there?”

“Hundreds,” Steve says. Most he fought next to, some he trained, all he’s proud of. 

“Like you noticed, you’re the first multiverse visitor we’ve gotten,” Tony says. “And I’m sure I could crack the secret to interdimensional travel, but . . .”

“Don’t,” Steve says. “It’s not my priority. It definitely shouldn’t be yours.”

Tony nods, like he expected that. “But your friends. They’ll be looking for you.”

Steve looks away. “Yes.”

“And you’ll go home.”

Steve doesn’t have a home anymore. “I’d prefer it if they didn’t find me.”

Tony’s eyes widen as if in surprise. Then he shakes his head, and when he continues talking, it’s the voice Steve hates, the one which means Tony’s hiding all his emotions behind a mask. “They will, though.” Steve says nothing. “And you’ll go with them,” Tony finishes. Not a question.

“Yes,” Steve answers anyway.

His Tony is dead. But this Tony has his world, his Steve, his life. Steve can’t ruin him with his own demons. 

He’ll go back.

(And maybe a miracle will happen. Maybe when the portal to his world inevitably opens, it’ll be by his Tony’s hand. Maybe.)

Steve knows he can never stay.

He looks at Tony, solemnly. “I’ll go back,” Steve says. “But it doesn’t seem to be today.”

Tony nods.

“And—I know you think I only care for you because of my—of the Tony from my own world. But that’s not true.”

It’s complicated, though, too complicated for Steve to explain, and the thing is: it’s so very easy, too. He fell in love with one Tony Stark already; how was he ever to stop himself from falling for another?

Tony looks away at that. The dark bruise over his eye is almost gone now.

With Reed gone, it’s probably Strange looking for Captain America. Maybe it will take him days. Maybe it will be weeks. Maybe Steve will have time to convince Tony he means it.

For now, Steve hugs Tony, lightly. 

Tony just leans into Steve, doesn’t tense this time, even when Steve thoughtlessly presses one hand to the middle of his chest just to feel him alive and there.

“One day,” Steve repeats. “I’ll go back one day. But until then . . . I’m here for you.”

Tony pulls him into a tighter embrace. “I believe you,” he says.

It can be a lie. But one Steve’s willing to take, until it’s the truth instead.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Broken Mirrors](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13213746) by [GoLBPodfics (digiella)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/digiella/pseuds/GoLBPodfics)




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